


i know sometimes a man is wrong

by orphan_account



Category: Law & Order, Law & Order: SVU
Genre: M/M, it’s possible im an insomniac
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John’s tired. His father had died. Jack’s tired. He doesn’t know why.
Relationships: John Munch/Jack McCoy
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

John was tired and he didn’t feel particularly well. He hadn’t been sleeping. He spent that time not sleeping, trying to self-psychoanalyze. No one close to him had died recently, no one had any near death experiences, nothing had happened. This made it all the more infuriating that he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t find an answer. 

He’d collapse into his bed every night, lay there for an hour or two, tossing and turning. Thinking, “This will be the time I fall asleep”. It’s been weeks, yet he hasn’t found the cause of his trouble sleeping.

Now he tries to fill those hours doing something more productive than laying in bed. He’ll go walking at two in the morning, or sometimes he’ll search for a movie to watch. 

It’s too cold to do that now, so he just paces around his apartment. Listening to music or worrying over the latest tragedy on the news. Sometimes he’ll shower a few times a night. 

Once he had heard about a particularly strong strain of the flu surfacing in New York. He had watched that segment at around ten. He got so worked up about it that he had to shower. Had to get the city germs off him. He apparently had gotten a little out of control, as about two hours later, he was still in the shower. His skin was red and irritated initially from the scolding heat and then later from friction of him scrubbing for nearly an hour. He only noticed that the water had run cold when he had emptied the bottle of body wash.

He had to call in sick the next day, not only as he had given himself a cold, but because he couldn’t force himself to leave his apartment. He felt like he was losing his mind.

When John has returned the next day, with a small bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket, he was immediately met with quips about him being a hypochondriac. 

‘Fin half-asked as John settled down at his desk, “I know you saw that segment on Wednesday night.”

John didn’t have the energy to do anything but shoot an annoyed look at him. ‘Fin was right, but John didn’t feel there was any productive conversation to be had. Either ‘Fin was worried about him and Munch would have to play it off with sarcasm. Or he wasn’t. John didn’t know which he preferred, so instead he focused on the paperwork in front of him.

He looked down at the paper and began with a report from Tuesday night. 

“Hey, what’s the date?” He looked across to ‘Fin.

“Erhm...” he looked down at his own desk, most likely at a calendar. “It’s the 30th.”

Things made sense now. Not perfect sense, but enough to satisfy his brain which had been endlessly trying to figure out his sleepless nights. 

It’s the 30th and he hadn’t been sleeping well and he wasn’t feeling well and the flu was everywhere. He was going throw up. His father had killed himself on the 30th.

Munch was staring down at the floor with his mouth pressed tight. He never responded to ‘Fin. His brain was screaming at him to find somewhere to throw up where no one would see. He realized there wasn’t enough time to get to a bathroom. 

His gaze shifted to the small trash can next to his desk. He stared at it sorrily as his brain drowned out all noise, and he tried to focus on not vomiting. 

He breathed slowly and heavily, even as he felt the urge grow stronger and stronger. Saliva was flooding his mouth, he found the whole ordeal entirely disgusting. 

With that thought he was dropping to the floor and emptying his guts. His knees were screaming at him, but his brain was louder.

He felt a hand on his back, rubbing in circles, and then his glasses were being removed. It was disorienting, but he decided it better to close his eyes, as he tried to hold off another wave of nausea. 

He didn’t know how long he had been on the floor, but he was pretty sure it was over. He had only been dry heaving for a while now, and felt he was safe to sit down and lean against the desk. He close his eyes and listened as familiar voices started to come back into focus. 

Olivia was muttering something about Elliot needing to hurry back with that cloth. He imagined she must be pretty close, she might have been the one rubbing his back. 

He pressed his palms to his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to compose himself and get through the rest of today. 

“Where are my glasses?” He asked miserably and a little loud.

He opened his eyes and put his hands out in front of him in instinct. Even though he was on the floor. He looked to his left and saw Olivia squatting near him. She was moving the trash can out of the area. 

He looked to his right to see ‘Fin right there, just starting to slip his glasses on.

He muttered a ‘thanks’. He then began to straighten up, hands grabbed at him to keep him upright, but he leaned back on his desk and they fell away. 

‘Fin cleared his throat, “So I guess the flu is going around.”

Munch doubted that had anything to do with his throwing up, but it was easier. So, he hummed in non-committal agreement. 

“John,” Munch looked over to see Cragen was standing in the doorway of his office. “Go home, John.”

Munch stared for a while, but then nodded. He wasn’t really going to go home, he was too scared he would fall back into the Cabin Fever like symptoms of the last day. He also didn’t want to be bothered with trouble sleeping. 

So, as he gathered his things he resigned to find a bar somewhere, and drown himself.


	2. Chapter 2

John had just been kicked out of his second bar today. He stood in the street and realized belatedly that it was nearly night again.

The first bartender asked him to leave because he’d not been paying for hours. He’d ordered one glass of gin, followed by three tall glasses of water. It was only nine in the morning, and so he’d convinced himself not to intoxicate himself just yet. Which also meant that he was just taking up space at the bar, and by two the bartender told him to leave.

She’d said it nicely, but after he’d tried to argue she screamed at him. So he left the first bar around two. 

He had many more glasses of gin at the second bar. He’d basically decided worst comes to worst his liver will fail. That wouldn’t be so bad. They let him drink for hours and indulging him as ranted about how braces and most other standard dental procedures were schemes of the government.

He wasn’t coherent and he didn’t really have an explanation of how that would assist the government. Or why they would. But he was still thoroughly convinced. 

At six, the bartender didn’t even ask him to leave politely. She’d been listening for hours and just snapped at him. Shouted that he should get out, this attracted the attention of the male bartender who was at the other end of the bar. John hadn’t argued that time.

He stumbled out and thought he might indulge himself further. He wandered around the corner where he knew there was a gay bar. He’d passed by it many times, but he had the gin powered courage to enter tonight. 

He was kicked out before he was even let in. When he’d seen the bouncer all he could think was that he looked a little like Hulk Hogan. The thought nagged at him until he walked up to the bouncer and couldn’t stop smiling. 

John stood in front of the man, smilingly widely. “You look,” he snickered. “You look Just! Just like Hulk Hogan!”

The bouncer shook his head ‘no’.

Munch nodded, “No, you really, really do.”

“No. You can’t come in.” The bouncer crosses his arms across his chest, as he responded.

John tutted in response and then whined somewhat petulantly, “Why not?”

The man only shook his head again.

He was getting annoyed, “Is it because I’m old?” He arched an eyebrow. “Come on, I’m right aren’t I. I’m not very old, I’m just tired. Besides that I could be ninety, but I’m still gay. What does it matter how old I am?”

He gesticulates wildly as he ranted. His arms flung out around him as his voice rose steadily in volume.

A voice came from behind him, telling him to “just get out the way already”

John whipped around at the voice and his arms helicoptered out around him. One of his elbows rammed into the bouncers ribs. Munch didn’t even notice and continued to tell off the man behind him.

Suddenly he was being pulled by his shoulder and someone yelled his name. He fell into the person who was now pulling him by his arm. 

He shot his hand out to hold onto the other man and regain his balance. He looked back to where he was just standing in line, and he watched as the bouncer hit the guy that Munch had just been shouting at.

Someone had pulled him out of the line of fire. That punch was definitely meant for him. He leaned back into said person and then turned around.

It was Jack McCoy. What on earth was Jack McCoy doing here?

“What on earth are you doing here?” John’s filter was dissolved by his fourth glass of gin. 

“Well, I-“

“I mean thank you, I was nearly minced by Hulk Hogan, there.” Munch interrupted as he once again lost his balance and tightened his grip Jacks’ side. “I suppose this makes you my savior.”

“I certainly don’t think-“ this time he cut himself off as he saw the bouncer walking towards them, looking much less than pleased.

He grabbed John by his hand, and then his waist as he threatened to fall, and they hurried off towards the subway. All the while, John was rotating between giggling quietly about Hulk Hogan and emphatically thanking Jack.

Jack McCoy was determined to get John home safe, but belatedly realized he didn’t know where that was; and he didn’t expect John to know at this point of inebriation. 

“John do you know which trains we need to take to get you home?” 

Jack had him leaning against a wall, so that he could try to figure where to go from here.

Munch seemed to think for a long moment before announcing, “I do, but I don’t want to go home, there’s no one there, but me. I’m not great company as it turns out.”

He seemed solemn now, but Jack always felt that when you were drunk there were never really any emotions. It was all just pretend or mocking or normal social interactions. 

Jack could just let him find his own way home, could leave him here, make some excuse up about a date or something.

He looked back to John, just as he started slipping down the wall.

Or not, he can’t realistically do that, it’s against all his morals. He’s beginning to accept that John Munch is coming with him as he catches him under the shoulder, stopping him from sliding.

They shuffled back out of the subway, assuming the coast was clear from the bouncer.

Jack hailed them a cab and helped John in. They began the car ride to Jacks’ apartment.


End file.
